Are you pregnant in Hollywood?
No, you’re not. You just think you are.
Actually, you have an abdominal tumor fondly known as a “baby bump!”
When gossip magazines run out of thighs to make fun of and relationships to demean, they like to move on and focus their attentions on celebrities who are trying to peacefully copulate with another person. Silly fools! Don’t they understand that they signed over the rights to gynecological privacy the day they put out their first album?
“Baby bump” sounds like such a cute, harmless, alliterative phrase, like “Krispy Kreme,” or “Pink Panther.” So why does it send me into a murderous rage? Aside from the fact that I’m wearing a sports bra that is a little bit too tight right now and it’s cutting off circulation to my rationality.
Talking about a woman’s “baby bump” is an insult to her. Instead of focusing on her health and wellbeing during her pregnancy, it is focused, as magazines almost always are, on her body parts. It’s just another way to objectify a woman by compartmentalizing her anatomy, ignoring her personality and feelings and zeroing in on her erogenous zones. In the case of pregnancy, said erogenous zone is inextricable from her actual vagina, thus putting her sex life and private matters into the spotlight. By calling attention to her “baby bump,” they are saying, “Look! This woman has fornicated with another human being, possessed of a penis and sperm, and look at her punishment! Incurable obesity between the hip and the ribcage! Put a hat on that soldier, folks!”
Not only does it manage to objectify the woman, it objectifies the baby in a way that is at least as creepy as it sounds. Much as we hate to admit it when one of the parents has the surname “Kardashian,” there is a wee human being in there who deserves an ounce of respect. It’s not the baby’s fault its parents are famous. There’s no need to document every conceivable stage of its prenatal growth for posterity. In fact, anyone who gives a shit needs to get their priorities in order. Get a hobby. Take up cross-stitch or something.
The final indignity is speculating about pregnancies that have yet to even be confirmed. “Is Beyonce expecting again?” the media oozes, “Or did she just have Mexican for lunch?” First of all, comparing a potential human to a large colonic blockage is gauche and not to be tolerated in polite company. And second of all, EXCUUUUSE HER for eating food like a normal human being. Having an ounce of fat in the lower abdomen is pretty much protocol for post-adolescent women, no matter how many Pinterest-inspired wall-sits we’ve been doing. And fuck you, I’m totally okay with my food baby. In fact, I’ve named it Sunkist Anemone Wulfric Brian Cruise, and if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going into labor. I had Thai for lunch.